Archives: Poems

The Friendly Skies

“The friendly skies” take flight with wings,
While we earth bound, check comments and things.
Are we “user friendly”, speaking right to all we see?
Or are we using “friendly fire” to kill them, sight unseen?

We have become a people who are hesitant to speak.
Because we may upset someone, even though it’s not our feat.
We’re told now what to say because we should be friendly one.
And in so doing, our conversations are no longer fun.

Sometimes these words and phrase project more than we did mean.
But friendship, true, intails the truth; it’s not always what it seems.
Can you speak truth without spite? Can bias be far gone?
If so, you are some miles ahead in singing this friendly song.

If we lose choice in what we speak, our words will not be kind.
Especially if we’re hammered at for not following blind.
Be real, the cause behind the scene is a politican’s scheme.
The real losers in this hard game is the separated team.

We cannot let others tell us how to think or act or feel.
It should be measured by grace, do tell; a genuineness so real.
Remarks abrupt, without concern, do not further the cause.
We need to think and wait a while; speak after a contemplated pause.

And in the end we should recall that free speech is our gift.
It should be used to liberate, to comfort, and to lift.
Sometimes it comes out different, but the purpose is the same.
You cannot help your fellow man by following their friendly game.

With all the talk about this friendly cloud we want to build.
We cannot get off the ground; we’d try, but just get killed.
Changing the words or signs will not rebuild what’s lost.
We need a change in the hearts of men – a friend, at any cost.

Would you follow someone who crossed the racial, gender zone?
Would you think twice of a strong man who walked here all alone?
He freed our speech, our hearts reclaimed, if only we could see.
We cannot alter by our words, but by God’s word supreme.

Oh sure, we could stay in the clouds and float on words of air.
Pretending by policing words we would be truly fair.
When will we wake up and realize this takes us no where.
It will inhibit truth and life and hurt those who do declare.

Bombs Bursting in Air

July fourth we celebrate the joy of nation’s birth,
Rockets, explosions we full love, revel heritage worth.

One day, a frigid January morn, I felt explosion’s might,
A house blew up not far away. I went and saw its fright.

Coincidentally, this same time explosions ripped the air,
With space explorers, a teacher, too, went far beyond their fare.

The house exploding, family lost their home of residence,
The shuttle blew in fragments and sprinkled the ocean’s depth.

While one affected a few folks, the other, miles away,
Residual effects that billowed long. Let’s not repeat that day.

When we so casually rejoice at sparks and hear bursting bombs in air,
We should recall all those before who passed away up there.

Pristine Eggs

Pristine eggs, fire hardened first, then covered with a glow.
Glisten, perfected in delicate strokes, the artistry reveals its flow.

Exquisite on its platform stand, capture our eye of taste.
One cannot view them quickly there; relish not in haste.

Likened to a saint of God, first hardened through fire’s trial.
Thereafter placed in perfected state; just waiting for a while.

Until the Master artist takes the piece, His presence to fulfill.
And gently places it in heaven’s window sill.

A Field of Hopes

People waiting in the field to catch a hopeful sight of some experience
Or one who’ll meet them there that night.

From Medjagoria where folks roamed through the ragged stone, to farms
And lands in U.S.A., seeking to atone.

They came in droves, stayed in the rain to get a certain sign.
A determined lot who’d wait and wait, with one thing on their mind.

Angelic visitant, they sought, or Mary, or some being.
While understanding their pursuit, I question, “Where’s the meaning”?

Did not a gathering occur, in low another field?
Some shepherds hailed angelic sight and knew their hope was sealed.

They met around a person who’s still alive today.
Why settle for a substitute when Jesus is the way?

Love’s Alarm

An internal alarm sounded in love. It burst forth as breath on my brow.
These words from God’s heart dropped dew on my soul, a freshness of spirit allowed.

He spoke not in terror or shame of the past, but held me in love’s great embrace.
For the first time, I think, I saw myself in His mirror, written with the joy of His face.

On a snowy March morning, I began that great day with a wakeup call I gladly heard.
The Creator summoned forth a new day for me: “Let there be love” was the word.

A Word Gift

“I need no help to love my dad” – this phrase of Kris’ heart.
No grander tribute given, than where true love gets its start.
Beginning in the child’s sweet mind, a gift for Father’s Day.
No present sent could e’er replace the words a child can say.

Family Values

Dependent on what families are, the values seem to shift.
We must return, and then, re-learn what caused this mighty rift.

Man changed the standards they held dear, and fashioned it for time.
The problem that exists is this: we cannot make this climb.

The family has been re-arranged, much like this world, you know.
Values, they drift with each new breeze, with God the first to go.

If our values are mirrored by what we each do and say, Mistakes we’ll find as we proceed along this murky way.

A standard stands within itself; its walls not tainted by
Those passing by or climbers who would try to pierce the sky.

Ev’n our height is not measured by each one who’s around.
Its constant is the ruler, a stick to get us off the ground.

Another ruler, not so stiff, yet sturdy, just the same.
Our values must come from His hand. Jesus is His name.

The valuables of family life, a new decree now must be clear.
Let God control the channels of the values way down here.

Our values rest in chests of gold; a dowry of our past.
If we unlock and change those gems, our future will not last.

Eternity Hinges on Jesus

Wally Steele saw a need unfold and crafted bits for his use.
They’d function in a working hinge, so that a door would not be loose.
Held together with the nails on the cross, this carpenter surely bore
The bite of sin which unhinged us all- welcome to Christ’s framed open door!
Jesus put His name and heart inside from where the cross is viewed.
Look closely for yourself, my friend: He’s the door waiting for you.

Empty Nest

A blooming tree once full of life,
Its mothered all around.
Its branch extended through leaves of green.
Its root deep in the ground.

So soon, its leaves fell off the branch;
Now looming life looked bare.
What once was warmth, appeared now cold.
There’s a feeling you’ve been there.

With children, dreams, or schedules full.
They one by one fall off.
Just as the tree, in nature’s glee,
Sees loss that brings life forth.

Contingent on the perspective,
The reference you do hold.
An empty nest is filled sublime,
When it finds it leaves in the fold.

When the golden sky outlines the tree;
Its skeleton branches form,
A gazing to the heights, where is found the tree of life.
This emptiness can make you transformed.

The “Term”inator

(Reflecting on November 8, 1994’s election returns when the shift turned towards Republicans.)

The ballot machine has done its deed –
Its dye has now been cast.
Elections saw some faces new.
Many dinosaurs in the past.

The ballot secret is made known.
Some think – oh great, at last!
For those who’ve weathered its harsh pain,
Might say, it came too fast.

On this sailboat, with turns we make.
The winds do change our mast.
The terminator did terms undo.
The implications will be vast.